Preconceived
by SunnyOrange
Summary: Seeing in to someone's mind wasn't always enjoyable, but it gave Edward an advantage above others. The preconceived notions he came to were acceptable. But what if he wasn't always correct. And what if someone proved his preconceived notions wrong. Unknowingly. Reading minds didn't make one immune to mistakes; something Edward had to learn. Pre-Twilight. 1932-33.
1. Preconceived

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Preconceived Notions **

"_Preconceived__ notions are the locks on the door to wisdom.__" _—_Merry Browne _

.~~.

Edward's POV

.

These social obligations are the bane of my existence. Pretensions run amuck. Vanity is almost palpable. The room sparkles with the thousands of jewels which drape over men and women, alike. My mental gift touches each of these shallow humans, and I wonder how they're even able to dress themselves in the morning with such little depth to their thoughts.

These humans seem the same, goats bleating in a swanky corral. I can feel my ire rising. _Wouldn't be in this awful situation if it weren't for Carlisle_ . . . I think unhappily.

"_You must make a few appearances, Edward. Surely a little socializing won't kill you_." He gave me his soft, encouraging smile, and I was horridly ready to do his bidding.

I grinned back, making sure to keep all hostility from my face. Inside I could hear the dark part of me screaming, "No, that was your venom, Dr. Cullen."

I shudder from the bitterness. It feels like a dichotomy at times warring within my mind. I love Carlisle, truly I do. He is the father my young heart always craved and the brother I constantly prayed to God for. Ironic – I would get such answers to my innocent yearnings at this time in my life. Especially when all I wanted to do was disobey Carlisle.

But here I stand, dressed to perfection in my evening clothes, relegated to a corner of this ridiculous ball room. Laughter is quite heady and gossip falls from lips like water over a fall.

Cigarette stench is everywhere and the smoke quite thick. I can't understand these humans' addiction to such a foul smelling object, but I'm still grateful to it all the same. The smell of the smoke helps to dilute the call of blood. It turns my stomach, pushing my vampire longing to a manageable level.

_Not that I am not in control of myself_.

My eyes take a turn about the room, studying each group pensively. It will be the only entertainment I receive tonight.

Several groups seem to have formed. To the left, near the buffet table, stand the men. Some are quite porky and already straining the material of their waistcoats, while others are much too thin.

Some men are supporting facial hair (even though it isn't quite vogue) while others are almost too suave. I can hear their conversation quite clearly, even though I am several feet from them. Politics, money, rumors of war and the disappointing downgrade to the currency.

Others complain of their wives, while others rejoice in having avoided such a bear trap.

I can't help but smirk at this – it is usually these gentlemen (and I use the term loosely) who cannot find a woman to even bait said trap. Human men and their delusions of grandeur . . . I roll my eyes.

The women – at least the older ones – are seated near the empty tables set up. Expensive linen table-clothes cover the tables, trying to add splendor to the already glamorous room.

Someone really should teach the Decorating Committee the meaning of exceeding what is necessary.

Crystal champagne flutes glitter under the brilliance of dangling chandeliers. Flowers of every kind fill the center of the tables, helping to add to the already nauseating scent of the room. Too many competing scents and not enough fresh air.

Back and forth these women squabble: Not enough quality wine, the food is too dry, the lights are too low, husbands are cheating with another mistress; and on and on it goes. One scratched record after another. Unfortunately there isn't anyone smart enough to remove the vinyl from the record player.

Even the younger crowd (the humans of my supposed generation) isn't much better. They are like their older contemporaries, complaining about everything in existence, unhappy with their lives – though they seemingly want for nothing – and the downgrade to their expensive lifestyles.

With the Depression rearing its ugly head, even the rich have cut back. Sadly and unfairly to these spoilt children, their parents have had to make concessions. And it seems it's come at a cost to their allowances in spending money, trips to the shore and city, and quality clothes now in fashion.

_What a disappointing life it surely must be for you_, I think, trying to keep the sneer from my lips. _Whatever shall you do with having to wear last season's designs_?

Perhaps I'm being unfair and ruthlessly judging this upper crust of society. These people are supposedly in my monetary and social sphere. The problems they gripe about, constantly bleat about, seem to be real concerns to them.

But as I watch them mingling, trying to one-up their friends, I can't help but be terribly jaded.

Beyond these fancy, silk-wallpapered walls and the towering glasses of champagne, is true heartache. Lives are forever ruined because of this dreadful depression. And though I try not to concern myself with the state of human plight (the memories of my rebellion flare too painfully when I indulge), in such situations such as these, I can't help but to.

Family are being torn apart, children are being left parentless, crime is on the rise, suicide looks to be a better alternative to abject poverty, education is fallen to the wayside, the unemployment rate is a catastrophe and the world is on the brink of war.

Yet here we stand – yes, my family included – pretending the world isn't falling down around us. Eat, Drink and be Merry for tomorrow doesn't truly matter. After all, it isn't our social circle in such dire straits, only those who put themselves in such a situation.

My disgust for these humans is almost too much.

I look around, trying to push such vitriolic thoughts from my mind. But as I take in each circle of acquaintances and their ilk, the ire rises.

At the top of the list, among the worst of the offenders, are the King's, Hale's and Morgan's.

They comprise the somewhat top hierarchy of Rochester. The King's most especially.

The Hale's might not have as much money or as nice of clothes, but they help to rule. The Morgan's are more the court jesters of the three, bowing down to the other's demands. But so is life, I presume.

Even I, jaded, masochistic, fabled creature, am not free from such restraint. I may not bow down to worship the all mighty dollar and youthfulness alters, but I do bend. My neck isn't free from all yoke restraint.

Blood – beautifully red and sinful – is my vice. If possible and if I hadn't a conscious (namely my love and respect for Carlisle) I would surely bath in it.

The taste of such drink is unsurpassed; nothing could ever compare with such nectar.

But, like the good vampire and son I profess myself to be, I restrain. I hold back the darkest part of myself and chain it down. Denying my nature isn't always easy, even if some of the smells of blood in this room are particularly lovely above others.

So, unlike those who constantly complain about their situations in life, I know my weaknesses and limitations. And above all, I know there is no use complaining about it.

It is I who puts such restrictions on myself. Out of respect for Carlisle, Esme, our family and way of living, I endure.

If these people are so unhappy, why do they continue as such? Why not shake up their mundane status quo?

To these questions I have no answers, and to these humans, I've wasted enough of my unlimited time.

Pretending to finish off the rest of my drink, I surreptitiously pour the rest into a planted urn. As if bored and unworried about life, I make my way around the perimeter of the room.

Though I try to stay in the shadows, I catch the gaze of many. It isn't like they can help it. Around me, they can feel the fear my nature invokes, but are strangely drawn to it.

They see my exquisite external beauty, but somehow fear it.

Their redundant thoughts run through my mind as I pass. And it's all been 'heard' before:

'_He is so very handsome. What I would give to be with him. All my husband's money, for sure_."

'_How is he still unattached? Lucky the lady which lands him. So unfair_.'

'_Those Cullen's sure are gorgeous. Must be something in the water_.'

'_Want to conquer such beauty, but would be too nervous to approach_.'

'_If my wife looks longingly at him once more, I shall have to do something to her. Those Cullens are terribly indecent_.'

'_If only I were twenty years younger_.'

And so on and so forth . . .

The last makes me grin infinitesimally. Even if she were forty years younger, I'd avoid her.

With caution, being sure to keep up a humanly appearance, I approach Carlisle and Esme. Even among such pretension, they are glorious. Though I am still mad with Carlisle, I can't help but be happy for him and Esme. They truly are soul mates. Even if I can't believe in such a notion. Contradicting myself at every turn.

He catches my eye before politely excusing himself from the horridly boring human.

"Are you leaving already, Edward?" he asks, pushing back his blond hair falling rakishly into his eyes. Around me, I can hear the sigh of females. _Poor Esme_.

"I must, Carlisle. I cannot take any more thoughts. It is almost too much already."

A sad, worried look takes over his distinguished face. Regardless of how much I try to reassure him, or tell him I shall be fine, Carlisle can't help but to worry. At times he is worse than Esme.

"I'll be fine, eventually. I simply must leave. You can understand, surely?" And he does.

_Edward . . . I do worry. My tender son. Wish he'd find happiness in something. My fault_.

I push from out of his mind and onto the simpler ones of the passing humans.

"Of course I understand, Edward. We all have our margins. And you've exceeded yours tonight. I'm just grateful you were able to attend."

I nod. His thoughts tell me so clearly of his thankfulness in living our lifestyle, enduring being so near humans.

"Next time, I promise . . ." He doesn't need to explain further. Carlisle is as good as his word.

Once we move away from Rochester, we shall be settling in to a more rural area. One where so many social obligations aren't needed, and almost expected.

"Thank you, sir," I say respectfully. After I give a little bow of my waist, I take my leave, but not before making a little parting shot, for his ears only, of course.

"Be sure to do rescue Esme, Dr. Cullen. You've left her with that _dry_ human and she isn't terribly amused."

A hurried gasp is my reward, along with scuttling feet. Carlisle will be lucky if he gets _**lucky**_ tonight.

.

As I step out of the building, where the benefit for some Depression cause is being held, I close my eyes and take in the fresh oxygen.

My lungs empty out all the stale air and take in the nourishing-ly clean substance.

Thank goodness for small favors.

As I tilt my head back and start to walk off – eyes wearily closed – something hits solidly into my chest.

A panicked squeak is heard before someone falling to the ground.

I internally groan and ask, "Why? Just when I thought myself free."

"Well, it wasn't as if it were on purpose. Perhaps if you had been looking where walking instead of closing your silly eyes, I would be upright still."

The haughty voice is enough to pull my eyes open. All I see is brilliantly rumpled, golden hair, fiery violet eyes and flushed creamy skin.

I stare at her, this exquisitely beautiful girl. Even fallen to the ground and slight stains on her pretty dress and anger coloring her skin, she is a vision. And rightfully so. She is without a doubt, the most alluring human I've seen.

"If you're quite done staring, Mr. Cullen, I'd appreciate the help up."

Immediately, as if pulled from some trance, I turn my eyes from her face and offer up my hand. Thankfully it is gloved and she won't feel the unnatural chill to my skin.

"My apologies, Miss.," I graciously offer, putting my limited manners to use. After all, I'm not one to really interact with humans.

She grabs onto my hand while allowing me to assist her.

The sting of blood comes to my nose, and I groan. _Just what I need. Some kind of scene_. My breathing stops as I drop her hand. I'm more than ready to make a quick exit.

"What are you apologizing for, Mr. Cullen, your knocking me over or your uncouth words?"

Several things strike me at once: I must have voiced my previous thoughts aloud, this is the second time she has said my name. Surely God mustn't hate me this much.

"Well, I would have said for you falling over, but now I'll have to rescind my contrition."

Her cheeks turn an even lovelier shade of pink, and I have to berate myself for noticing. This isn't the first time I've seen Rosalie Hale, and nor will it be the last. Her beauty is quite famous, and men everywhere can't help but visualize her, what they'd like to do with her, _to her_. Some of it is quite depraved.

"Excuse me," she whispers, as if trying to keep her voice from rising to screaming.

Her delicate hands are clenched into fists and parts of her golden curls are falling out from her up-do.

"Well, Miss. Hale," I say, making sure she's aware of my knowing her name, also. "It does take two to make a collision and obviously you, too, weren't watching where walking. I could even go as far to claim you knocked into me on purpose. As my eyes were closed and everything."

Shock first fills her eyes but is soon replaced with a raging fire.

_The conceit . . . The gull of this man . . . How could he think . . . As if I would ever . . . Stop staring_ . . .

Her thoughts are broken but seem to amuse me endlessly.

"It seems you are as familiar with me as I am with you." For a moment I'm surprised. I thought, surely, she would have yelled at me, demanded I take back my provocative assertions.

But I find myself pleasantly surprised. _A first for the night_.

I shake my head and return to the present.

"Most in this city seem to be familiar with you, Miss. Hale. Incontestably you must know this. Beauty such as yours."

She has the good grace to blush prettily, and I find my eyes taking in the lovely color, the high cheekbones, the startling shade of violet in her eyes.

This night seems to be turning into one of surprises.

_He notices my beauty? He, who is so much more attractive than I. He who all the women – and some men, too – seem to drool over. Does he think me beautiful? Everyone is more than familiar with the Cullens' handsomeness. I envy _. . .

"Be that as it may, Mr. Cullen. You were terribly rude with your words. I truly did not see you. It is very dark, after all."  
I could capitulate on this, at least.

Here, on the side of the building, it is very dark. The streetlamps don't seem to light this area properly.

I feel an uneasiness creep into my veins. I can't understand its orientation or why I would feel it for such a vain, useless human. But here it is, swirling restlessly.

"You're right, Miss. Hale." Again, I see the apples of her cheeks go a shade darker from my agreement. She probably thinks I'm unable to see it in such darkness, _but oh_, if she really knew what I'm capable of.

"But it is getting rather late, and you shouldn't be here . . . alone in such darkness. Perhaps it would be wise of you to go back inside."

And when I think, once again, she may take angry at my (almost) command, she does the opposite.

"You're right. It is rather dark. I only needed some fresh air. It was rather stifling in there, don't you think?"

Immediately, my mind agrees, but I don't voice it. I already feel at a disadvantage with this queer encounter.

Her shivering from the slight chill in the weather pulls my attention away from my failings.

Without thought or knowing why, I pull my evening dinner jacket off and drape it over her shoulders.

What is happening with me, tonight?

_So nice . . . I thought him terribly snobby . . . surprised . . . still don't like him much . . . was awfully rude to me_ . . .

I turn from her (after securing my jacket over her shoulders) to be sure she hasn't seen my amused grin. The smell of her blood is also starting to get to me.

"Do you need me to walk you in?" I politely offer, though I want to do the complete reverse.

She pulls my suit coat closer to her curvy frame and I'm struck again by her humanly beauty, her fragility wrapped in such vanity. She is a dichotomy all unto herself.

"It's okay. I think I can make my way around the building unharmed." I can't tell if she is joking or not, but I show her a little grin for her efforts; not that she can really see it.

With nothing left to say, she turns from me and starts to walk off . . . into the light . . . into a party which is Rosalie Hale's milieu.

I find myself feeling strangely bereft. Bemusement seems to be my new companion.

"I am sorry, Miss. Hale," I whisper to her retreating back. Somehow she hears me and turns around.

"No worries, Mr. Cullen. I shall be fine."

_Yes . . . you are_, I can't help but to agree.

And just before she turns the corner, she takes my coat off and tosses it back to me. Deftly, I catch it. She is partially in the light again, and I'm all but breathless. Satirical for a creature who doesn't require air.

"Nice to have bumped in to you, Mr. Cullen. And the name's Rosalie. I think we've _fallen_ beyond social etiquette, don't you." With a wink, she turns out of sight and I'm left, blessedly, alone.

.

My run home is one of endurance. The emotions rushing through my veins seem to demand it.

And what consumes me . . . has me in a terrible quandary. The face of a beguiling human girl. Rosalie Hale. Beautiful. Vain. Envious. One of the shallow people.

Or so I had thought.

Tonight at the numbing soirée, she hadn't escaped my notice. Or anyone's notice for that matter. Exquisiteness such as hers is enthralling. Not to be ignored.

As I stood in my corner, taking in the fill of the room, she often invaded my mind.

Above all, Rosalie Hale was conceited. There was no disputing this. Some would argue she is a product of her environment. That people always staring at her, parents constantly praising her outwardly appearance is the effects of her vanity.

Constantly, her mind is full of her beauty, and she doesn't know any other way to think.

But even under the current of her self-involvedness, I could detect her happiness. She liked people noticing her beauty, she craved the attention. It made her special, it was her identity, and without, Rosalie Hale didn't know how else to be. Sadly, (or however one looked at the situation) Miss. Hale was content with being simply stunning.

Tonight, I had seen more. Away from the lights, glitter, and constant attention, she was different. I didn't know how or why I _even care_, but she was different. And sadly, I now mourn for her.

My feet sprinting along the ground is my release. The further I go away from Miss. Hale, the better I feel. She had me at disadvantage tonight. I hadn't liked it.

It is quite funny to think, she has always felt threatened by Carlisle, Esme and myself. She saw her attention being taken away. That our beauty is superior to hers.

But perhaps, there is more to it. Perhaps it isn't all about the glory of being the most beautiful.

Perhaps it is about her identity being stripped from her, the Hale parents not praising her anymore, people looking to someone else and thinking them better than she.

I could understand such sentiment. I had felt it when Carlisle first changed Esme. I hadn't known what to make of her or how she would shake the family dynamic. Perhaps Carlisle wouldn't need me any longer, send me away and no longer claim me. They were real fears founded in the unknown.

So why couldn't Rosalie Hale have the same fears? Why couldn't see have her vainness and another layer beyond that, too? What made it fair for me to simply see her as nothing but an attention-seeking socialite?

And why, after such a short interlude in the dark, am I questioning myself?

These are the thoughts, which sweep through my head as I run . . . run away from the uncertainty . . . run away from the pretension . . . run away from her.

Rosalie Hale.

_Quandary_.

_Intriguing_.

.

* * *

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Author's Note: Welcome to another little creation of mine (minus everything recognized – please don't sue me. *wink*).

This particular story came in to my mind while lying in bed one night. It will be from Edward's POV, which scared me a lot. I haven't really gotten his side down pat. But hopefully this will be okay. It is a one-shot that ended up near 13,000 words. So I decided to break it up in three parts. Everything is written and I only have a little more to edit. I'll be posting over the next couple of weeks if you're still interested after reading this first one.

Anyhow, I hope you liked my foray into Edward's mind. Like my other two stories, this is set pre-twilight. I just love writing about that time. This story isn't related to my other two, but may look a little familiar. But again, it isn't related. Just having a little fun with Edward and trying not to fear writing his POV. But to be honest, it really is a task for me. I never think I get the cadence of his POV right. Oh well, What is a poor writer supposed to do?

If you have the time or inclination, I'd love your thoughts, opinions, anything you like to contribute. Did you like his POV? Did it sound like his character or was I way off base? What is Edward up to? Hmm . . .

Thanks for stopping by and much love!


	2. Very, Very Seldom

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Very, Very Seldom**

"_A man can seldom __-__ very, very, seldom __- __fight a winning fight __against__ his training; the __odds__ are too heavy.__"— __Mark Twain _

.~~.

Edward's POV

.

I've always known of my obsessive personality trait. It isn't exclusive to my being a vampire.

When human, I can still remember how it was made manifest. There is no question I came from an affluent, privileged background. My family was upper-crust, and I wanted for nothing material.

One would think this can make anyone happy. Not wanting for material possessions is a good thing, I wouldn't lie about that, but it isn't everything, and as a young human boy, I felt it acutely.

My father, being the big-time attorney that he was never really had time for mother or myself. With his many obligations filling his already full schedule, time was limited. For a young boy who craves his father's attention and approval, it doesn't mix quite well.

So I found myself compensating and controlling what I could.

I was an extremely neat person, somewhat fussy about needing my possession in a certain way, organized to perfection. It was something I could control.

My mother's affection was another thing I found myself needing regularly, needing the reassurances. Being her only child, she almost overwhelmed me with her attention. Perhaps, like my human counterpart, she also felt the need to love something wholly; the need to have it returned.

My piano playing and practice was something I never neglected. I wanted to be perfect, to never make a mistake while playing. I was obsessive about putting time aside to practice. I never let anything interfere with it. I needed to excel at it. My grades for school also fell in this category. I _excelled_.

When older, and still not really getting the attention or approval I required from my father, it started to become clear that it was too late.

I was set in my ways, just like Edward Sr., and my heart had moved on (or so we like to fool ourselves). I now obsessively controlled the things I could and disregarded the rest. Trifling things had nothing to do with me. Out of sight, out of mind.

But the thing which had really captured me, called out to me, was the thought of becoming a soldier.

I couldn't remember where or when the obsession started, but I believed in the cause so very deeply. I wanted to enlist and fight.

But with this came the obligation I felt first to my mother. She wanted war nowhere near me. Elizabeth Masen thought her son too talented for war. She saw bigger things for my life.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the person, I never got to realize the obsession one way or the other. By the time I thought of enlisting, both mother and father came down with Spanish Influenza. It wasn't long after that I also became sick.

Even after Dr. Cullen had changed and taught me his way of life, I could still feel that obsessive need in me. It hadn't gone away with the burn of venom in my veins. It could be argued, the venom made it worse.

Unlike Edward Sr., Carlisle gave me everything I required: love, approval, acceptance, material possessions, but still, it wasn't enough.

The one thing I wanted was being denied me. It wasn't really Carlisle whom stopped me, but the respect and love I felt for him.

But even with the obligation I thought owed to him, I still rebelled. My obsessive nature all but crooned at the decision. And the first time I tasted human blood, it all but bathed in insanity.

Like most things with rebellion, the newness eventually wore off, and the bloodlust dissipated to depression.

Once again, I found myself dissatisfied. The longing to find Carlisle, to beg him to take me back was mounting.

Like the superior being I always knew him to be, Carlisle's arms were outstretched. Never had he dropped them, simply waiting for me to return.

After being forgiven and acclimating myself to having a new member to our family, my obsessive nature was buzzing. No longer being released through the haze of bloodlust, I had to find a new direction.

And I found it, _clung to it_. No longer would I feed from humans. I would direct my neurotic nature toward my control.

Control – something I seemed to excel at – became paramount. It was second only to Carlisle's. This time, instead of rebelling and giving shame to the Cullen name, I would embrace Carlisle's views and make them the mantra to which I walked each step of my life.

And so it has been. Since nineteen-thirty-one, I have abstained.

But now, I find that itch inside of myself tingling again. No matter how much I try to distract it or cling to my bloodlust control, I find myself wanting a different outlet.

And it became known.

_Outlet, thy name is Rosalie Hale_.

.

.

Like most good intentions, it started out innocently enough. I had no plans or grand machinations when it came to this new intriguing human.

It had been borne out of my guilt: my guilt in treating her unfairly and judging her as someone lacking depth.

Perhaps my preconceived notions were beneath her, but what did I care. Edward Cullen could read minds and thusly knew everything.

After running long and far that night – that night she became intriguing – I spent the next several days contemplating Rosalie Hale.

My mind took in every nuance I noticed about her, every thought I'd ever heard from her.

Granted, she was a vain person, but so was I. My holding that against her was quite hypocritical.

So, I decided to throw everything I knew about her out. My predetermined judgments of her became null and void. But even with a blank slate, I still felt the guilt acutely. And as I know it to be my nature, guilt seems to be synonymous with obsession.

Along with this new guilt residing in my chest, came a need to know, a need to fill correctly this blank slate.

At first, I balked at this notion. What did I need to atone for? Miss. Hale was human and thus below me. I owed her nothing and my judgments had been just. The girl was vain-glorified.

However, this justification hadn't lasted long. The guilt would not relent. My obsession in wanting to know what Miss. Hale was really like began to build.

_What is she like beyond the glitter, beyond the beautiful dresses and perfect golden hair_?

I didn't know how to go about finding out. Attending social functions was out. My mental gift couldn't take the continuous monotony of such gatherings.

I could have asked about town, asked questions about the young woman that was Rosalie Hale. But this idea created several problems. It would bring unneeded attention to our family. And even if I asked questions, who's to say the information would be correct.

With my options already limited, there was only one course left. It was with some reluctance and a little fear (mostly of how much I wanted to know this girl) that I put my last option into action.

The only recourse I could see to my dilemma was to follow Rosalie Hale. Granted, I could have hired a private investigator, but they were messy. The paper trial would lead back to the Cullens.

And to be quite frank, I was a thousand times better than any rudimentary detective. From the skills I gained during my rebellion and my enhanced abilities, hiring someone else was entirely absurd.

.

.

At first my following her (weather permitting) consisted of social outing. Hidden I would remain, not being able to stomach the inanity surrounding her.

Beautiful she would always appear; not a hair out of place. I couldn't help but wonder how she came off so flawless. She was human and thus subjected to frailties. But Miss. Hale seemed above it all.

One party bled into another. One cup of tea (out with friends) became another. One social obligation pertaining to her station stretched forth.

Her life seemed to be filled with nothing besides that of a socialite. This was something I was already familiar with. It had been the basis of which I initially judged Miss. Hale.

The more I followed her, the less things had seemed to change. Everywhere she went, Rosalie Hale was the picture of gentility. Oh, for she was stunning, and stood above the rest. Eyes never ceased to follow her. Every move she made was tracked, not only by myself, but men and women alike.

Among mere mortals and the humdrum of normality, Rosalie Hale was that shining city on the hill. Her brilliance was unmatched – unparalleled. Even Hollywood's most alluring ingénue would be found severely lacking.

During my 'investigation', as I called it (justified it) in my mind, I constantly reached out, taking in her mental structure, _mental flavor_. This would allow me to know her most intimately. Unfair advantage or not, using my gift wasn't above my moral pay grade.

Always, _always_, Rosalie Hale thought about herself. Again, this wasn't new to me. I already knew her self-involved. But underneath the self-concern, I _felt_ something else.

What I had initially perceived to be extreme conceit wasn't truly that. Yes, she worried about how she looked, what the latest fashion was, if her hair was presentable, if people thought her beautiful, but it went further.

In between the conceit was her happiness. Whether she truly was oblivious to everything around her, or nothing affected her, or she knew problems couldn't be fixed by her, Rosalie Hale was content. Happy. Almost childlike.

Some would call her naïve, but I _knew_ differently. I had heard the girl talk about current events like the most seasoned news reporter. Rosalie Hale _wasn't_ naïve. I believed she simply lived within the parameters of her life. Existed in the sphere in which she knew. _What need does she have to reach beyond_? _What incentive_?

The only time I really saw her insecure was when the Cullens were around. I already knew what that anxiety stemmed from, and nor did I blame her. Most persons were intimated by the Cullens, for all manner of things. Why should Miss. Hale be any different?

In that respect she wasn't, but in other areas she exceeded even me.

One such afternoon still stays with me.

After _another_ afternoon tea with _another_ one of her many friends, both women left the establishment and started to make their way down the street.

People were everywhere, filling every available space. It was with surprise when Miss. Hale finally stopped and suddenly turned to her left.

At first I thought she had somehow seen me, suspected me of following her, but that couldn't have been the cause. After stupidly reminding myself I was behind her, and thus couldn't been seen around all the people milling about, I turned my attention back to her.

_How are people able to pass_ . . . _Unfair_ . . . _Looks tired, so very stricken_ . . . _I cannot understand unchristian behavior_ . . .

Her thoughts seemed to swirl, making them unconnected. With caution, I followed her eye's sight, trying to find what held her captive.

"Rosalie, darling," her grating friend complained. "What's happened? Why have we stopped? We do have an appointment to keep."

While rolling my eyes at her silly friend (utterly human of me), I turned back to Miss. Hale.

While I had been preoccupied with her ninny of a companion, Rosalie had started to move.

Without thought to her companion, she crossed the street, making her way to what had wholly caught her interest.

Confusion swiftly swamped me. I couldn't understand Miss. Hale's actions.

_Need more than me . . . Don't care what mother and father say . . . Children are innocent . . . Looks so sad_ . . .

And then, the unnecessary oxygen left my lungs and the stone heart residing in my chest seemed to constrict. Before me, unknowingly to her, Rosalie Hale had humbled me.

Bending down, in her expensive dress, without a care as to getting it dirty, she reached out and touched the little child.

The unknown child at first recoiled away from this stranger, not realizing what was happening.

"Don't be scared, little one. I mean you no harm," this golden mystery (to me) whispered to the child.

The grimy child simply nodded, her eyes going wide.

"Where are your parents?" The little child studied this woman, the one whom seemed to talk to her; for no apparent reason.

Slowly, after deciding she was safe, the little girl raised her finger and pointed to a store.

Before Miss. Hale could say anything further, a harassed woman came barreling out of the store, nothing in hand but an empty little purse.

"What you doin'," the woman inquired of Miss. Hale. She took in the young, fashionable lady kneeling by her daughter.

"Forgive me, ma'am." Miss. Hale quickly rose to her feet without brushing off her dirty dress. Her attention was entirely focused on this queer woman and her little waif of a daughter.

"I meant no harm. I only saw your daughter standing here by herself and wanted to make sure she was well. That is all."

Miss. Hale allowed her beautifully full lips to spread into a warm smile. It's as if the sun had come out – though the day was quite overcast.

Like myself, confusion was quick to overtake this tired woman. I could read the suspicion in her mind, but she was also surprised. She couldn't understand how this beautiful, society woman could be worried about _her_ daughter.

"Well . . . thanks and all." As the woman politely nodded to Rosalie, she bent down and took her daughter's hand.

Inside, her mind was whirling. She didn't know what they would do that night. The man in the store was quite unhelpful and refused to barter. She didn't know how her family would be fed.

However, before the woman could leave, she was stopped by a soft voice.

I watched Miss. Hale as she took me to my knees. I was humbled, exquisitely taken aback.

"Ma'am, if you please." The harried, insolvent woman turned back around before gasping aloud. Like me, she was astonished. For in Miss. Hale's delicate fingers was a bundle of money. I could make out quite a bit.

Across the street, still in front of me, the forgotten tea acquaintance made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. She couldn't see why her friend would give money away; especially to someone so dirty. Her nose wrinkled.

"Miss.?" the woman whimpered, shaking her head from one side to the other.

With no desire of being rejected, Miss. Hale softly stepped forward, took the woman's calloused hand into her own pampered one, and placed the bundle of money into her palm.

With a tender smile, Rosalie closed the woman's fingers around the money before removing her own.

"Please," the young socialite pleaded. Exquisite tears lingered in her violet eyes. She was beyond stunning in both her loveliness and generosity.

"Take it. You have more need of it that I." Her eyes gracefully fell to the little girl still clutching at her mother's hand, taking in the pretty lady in front of her.

A soft smile touched the corner of Miss. Hale's lips. She could see how the little girl watched her in amazement.

With an enchanting wink to the small child, the golden-haired beauty turned around and started to make her way back to the unforgotten friend.

"Thank you," was whimpered from the still stunned mother.

"You are most welcomed."

And as if nothing queer had happened, Rosalie Hale crossed the street and resumed her previous path.

"How could you do that, Rosalie," the nasally friend demanded. I wanted to twist her neck and watch as she soundlessly dropped to the ground. "She was dirty."

Cold, violet eyes took in her companion. She looked like some avenging angel: all golden hair, flushed skin and flowing dress.

"Easily," was the angel's reply. "If you would excuse me, I no longer have the money needed for our beauty appointment. Perhaps next time. Please do make my apologies." And with a well delivered parting-line she made her superb exit.

The selfish friend stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape and face pale as she watched her friend turn around and head off in another direction.

.

.

And that was how I started to see Rosalie Hale as the conundrum she presented to me.

It was the first time, in a long while, I had been surprised by a human, and one whom I thought only cared for herself.

It wasn't the last time she astonished me. The more I watched and observed Rosalie Hale the more fixated I became. Simply following her during the day wasn't enough.

On days when the sun shined brightly, I would remain home and think about her, trying to understand her. But what made Rosalie Hale tick evaded me.

When the sun would finally set I found myself instantly leaving home. The need to be near her, observe her, was great. It was enough to drive me spare when I couldn't watch.

Her nighttime ritual was the same. Compulsively, she'd wash her face, brush her teeth and comb out her glorious tresses. She'd study her image in the mirror, thinking on how beautiful she was (which I was quick to agree); how content she was with being just beautiful.

The simplicity of her thoughts amazed me, because truly she was happy in just being beautiful. She was happy with people thinking about her as such, and she was happy to be blessed accordingly.

After saying goodnight to her parents, she'd fall to her knees in prayer. Most of the time she prayed for those less fortunate than herself, asking for them to be blessed with what they needed most – especially the children.

The love she held for children amazed me the most. Her love was almost selfless for them.

_Would give it all up – beauty for children_, she'd often think, while gazing in the mirror.

I would read it so astonishingly in her thoughts. Because no mistaking, Rosalie loved being beautiful, being surrounded with beautiful things, seeing the beautiful things this awful world had to offer.

But above all, her most ardent desire was to have a child to love. She wanted to feel her body heavy with child; she wanted to give birth and bestow all the love she had on said child.

In the darkest parts of the night, when I was at my most despondent, it was Miss. Hale who now pulled me from such gloom.

The splendor which shaped her dreams was magnificent. Often they were filled with laughing, bright, happy children.

Squealing, they'd run to their mother. Rosalie's arms would be opened wide, simply waiting to be filled with squirming child. Her rosy lips would press tenderly onto their cheeks while she laughed at their exuberance.

And when they were done playing, singing, simply twirling around the back yard, she'd tuck them neatly in their beds with her love radiant.

As I closed my eyes and watched the dreams with her, I would become lost in their innocence. I couldn't understand such simplicity, such happiness in giving love so freely. My nature was in complete contrast to hers. But guiltily I would bask in her vivacity.

Feeling such simplistic radiance took me to places I never imagined. The more I felt it, the more I became captivated to it. To be able to step outside of myself – even for a moment – was like a boon. It helped me to feel a little freer.

My routine started to become centered on Rosalie Hale. The very steps of her life became shadowed by a creeping vampire.

At times I was bothered by this. Following some unsuspecting female was quite out-of-order, but I tried my best to give her the necessary privacy to preserve her modesty.

My actions weren't meant for some nefarious reason. It began with wanting to understand this queer human and had transformed from there. It wasn't as if thoughts about her naked, what a luscious body she has, how she would look under a man, didn't invade my mind. Most men who looked on her saw such images – and thus I did.

At times I could feel my fingers curling, wanting to rip those fiends to shreds. My bloodlust would spike tenfold. But just thinking about one of Rosalie's dreams would calm me.

Bur regardless of how much it was creepy to follow her (as much as I was able), I couldn't stop. I craved. I wanted. I'm selfish.

After several months of rearranging my unlimited time around hers, Carlisle started to worry. As did Esme. They could see something happening to me but couldn't understand what. They only noticed my absence, my mental absence, my lack of attention to our family and irregular hunting patterns.

One evening, before I could leave and get to Miss. Hale, Carlisle pulled me into his office.

.

"What is it, Carlisle? I'm needed elsewhere."

Hurt and surprise blossomed over his concerned face. Immediately I felt contrite for snapping, but my need to be near Miss. Hale was strong. The sun had been shining all day, thus stopping me from following her.

_Sorry. I hadn't realized your pressing schedule near eight at night. Talk to me, son_.

I looked away from my 'father' and out his study window. The sun had already set and the sky was alight with streaks of dark blue and lingering purples. So much like Rosalie's eyes.

"I don't mean to be so short, but I do have somewhere else to be. May we talk later?" My eyes fell back to his, pleading him to understand.

"Esme and I are concerned, Edward." He wasn't taking my ques.

_We need to speak now. Worried, son_.

I bit down hard, grinding my teeth. My frustration was mounting. The itching under my skin irritated my already sensitive emotions.

"What, Carlisle? What am I able to do for you and Esme? Simply because I'm not here, constantly underfoot, you're worried? Isn't that a little selfish." Mentally, I cringed. I truly hadn't meant to be so mean, but I wanted to leave. Yes, Edward Cullen was a selfish being.

"Son, please," my mentor soothed. I could hear the hurt coating his voice.

My ire dropped as my weariness took over. I was tired. Tired of being disgusting by following a human girl, tired of feeling this obsession, tired of being lonely, tired of my assertions about everything.

"I've been following Miss. Rosalie Hale around," I softly mumbled, ashamed of my actions and scared of Carlisle's reaction. Because, for some reason, I still wanted his approval.

When the silence remained too thick and unbroken, I looked up and saw understanding on Carlisle's visage. This I hadn't suspect.

_It was the same with me_. _Esme, when she was human_. _Remember_?

And I did. My jaw dropped opened. I couldn't understand how I had forgotten or how I figured Carlisle wouldn't at least _sympathize_ with me. Above all else, he didn't judge, even when I had rebelled and consumed human blood.

"I honestly forgot."But even with his understanding, Carlisle hadn't stalked Esme. He looked out for her, tried to help her, when human. He wasn't a disgusting shadow.

"I cannot seem to stop, though, Carlisle. There is something about Miss. Hale; something so intriguing and innocent. She takes me to places I never fathomed." My head dropped as I bridged my fingers over my nose. _So human_. "I cannot stop."

_Edward . . . my poor son_. _I love you no matter what_ . . . _You were my first in this existence_.

"You aren't hurting Miss. Hale, are you?" Though he asked the obvious question, I could hear his thoughts and read of his concern for me. He already knew the answer.

"Not that I can surmise," I answered honestly.

While there wasn't any physical interaction between us, I something couldn't help wonder if she sensed me; knew someone was watching her.

Oft times, when she stopped and looked around (for some phantom shadow) I feared she could sense me. But she would shake her beautiful head, calling herself "_silly_" and walked on.

"Then I see no harm. I only worry for you, setting yourself up for a fall. Putting expectations on something which doesn't exist. Are you able to understand this, Edward?"

_Don't become hurt, my son_.

I blinked several times before nodding. I understood, but I couldn't stop. Truly.

"Do be careful, Edward. Esme and I love you. No matter what. You know this, right?"

I could feel the worry lingering on his mind, for my well-being, for my happiness, for my growing obsession.

"Of course, Carlisle. As I love you and Esme. We're family."

He nodded his head while placing his hand over his unbeaten heart. Slowly he turned from me and took up looking out at the night, the same window I had been gazing out of.

Without anything else spoken, I quit his study and started for Rosalie Hale's house.

_She's probably already in bed, starting to dream about dancing little children; about a world where nothing ugly can touch her or her loved ones_. _What would I see if sleeping were an option for me_?

.

Even with Carlisle finding out my secret, I hadn't stopped my tracking. Miss. Hale had unknowingly pulled me in, and to pull myself away would cause me such pain.

There were times I felt I couldn't breathe unless I saw her, even for a brief moment.

This scared me more than anything. Something so innocently started, now became almost dark and foreboding.

How much longer this could continue I didn't know. But somehow, _somewhere_, there had to be something to pull me from this spiral.

Until then, I cleaved to what I knew: I clung to my obsession. But inside of the recesses of my mind, I masochistically prayed for something to break me of this; all the while knowing I'd lose a part of myself in the process.

.

.

.

It hadn't been until another month passed that I got my unwanted (yet still asked for) wish. I was filled with so much uncertainty, so much indecision that I felt a drowning sensation.

Part of me always wanted to watch Rosalie – to live each season of her life with her (unnoticed in the dusk, always in the shadows). She brought something which filled the empty spaces, which put light into my lifeless body.

I wanted to watch as her goals became realized, as she actually twirled in the back yard with her little ones. Both dressed in beautiful silk frocks, golden hair unbound, love felt above all.

I wanted to watch as she loved and nourished her children, supporting them in their life's calling.

I wanted to watch as life took its toll on her, took her beauty, year by year, giving back the wrinkles and smile lines she earned in return.

I wanted to watch – heartbreakingly – as her family surrounded, took her weathered hand into theirs and spoke of their enduring love. And as she took her last breath – joyful in the knowledge her life had been surrounded with beauty, love, happiness – she allowed her spirit to fly away.

I wanted to watch _it all_.

But on the other side, I wanted to break free of this fixation. I didn't know how I could sustain myself on it. Being a vampire, I was meant for endlessness, death and blood.

_Things which should never touch Rosalie's life, even in an unknown capacity_ . . .

My constant equivocating was driving me mad. Yet, I couldn't stop. My masochistic side refused to let me stop. No matter how much the remaining gentleman pleaded, it refused. I was glutton for punishment. And I couldn't comprehend what it derived from.

But it didn't really matter, because wanted or unwanted, things were about to change. And when things came to an end, I found that I still hadn't known.

_But oh_, it didn't stop the pain, the suffocating feelings which had been enough to end me.

Something eventually must always give.

.

* * *

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Author's Notes: Oh, I'm very proud of myself, getting this chapter posted in a timely fashion. I hate editing(!), so I procrastinate as much as possible. But I pushed through.

**Thank you** for all the reviews for last chapter. They were quite wonderful! I cannot thank you enough. Hope everyone got their replies.

What did you think of this chapter? Good? Still in the vein of keeping Edward in character? What did you think of his make-up, his obsessive nature? Did you like Rosalie? I adore her in this story, just my opinion.

If you have the time or inclination . . . please, please review! I love them, and obviously they get me motivated! Anyhow, much love sent!

_Updated: Sunday, 24 November 2013 _


	3. A Man, a Woman

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**A Man, a Woman**

"_A man never knows how to __say__goodbye__; a woman never knows when to __say__ it.__"— __Helen Rowla__nd_

.~~.

Edward's POV

.

_Something eventually must always give._

_._

_._

Royce King was his name. In the final months of nineteen-thirty-two Royce King came into Rosalie's life . . . and subsequently, mine.

He was handsome (for a human), smart, rich (to be sure), and what every girl had wanted.

His family was one of the leaders of Rochester, thus making him desirable. It was oft said, in the minds of many in Rochester, "_what a King wanted or sought after, they received_".

The Kings was a family I wasn't partial to. Everything was about status, making more money and acquiring power. They had little regard for others around them; and though they gave monetarily to charity, it was for show.

"_Oh look at how much money we've given to charity. Put our names and contributions in the Paper. Pat our backs, and notice our good deeds_," I would imagine them saying.

Everything was for the status of man, and the God which they seemed to worship on Sundays came in a distant last.

But this aspect of their lives hadn't mattered. People still looked up to the Kings, envied their lives, sought to be like them.

And Rosalie – sweet, happy, beautiful Rosalie – had been oblivious to it all. She continued to live her life in beauty; oblivious to it all.

At night, while she dreamed the simple pleading of her heart, her parents planned to wed their daughter to Royce King.

"So you'll leave your lunch tomorrow, _by mistake_." I could hear the mirth in Lillian Hale's voice, as if she were directing the most entertaining picture. It made my stomach spasm and heart hurt.

"Of course, dear. _By mistake_." My fingers started to curl again and my bloodlust rose.

"And then, I'll send Rosalie on her way, needing her to deliver lunch to her father. We couldn't have him going hungry."

The tree branch above me snapped under the force of my grip, but on they continued to plot.

"And once Royce King sees our gorgeous daughter–"

"–All else will fall into line."

"Oh, Richard, visualize: the status. She'll bring us so much more than we could imagine."

"That she will, my dear."

I had to run from them. Though something inside of me begged not to leave the unsuspecting Miss. Hale alone, I had to run. Blood would have flowed freely that night if I'd stayed.

.

After confessing my learning's to Carlisle, and my want to do something, he looked sad. He looked as if what I proposed was unreachable. Preposterous, even.

His thoughts only confirmed my suspicion. _He cannot intervene. Rosalie Hale must be free to live her life, no matter what her parents have planned. We aren't Gods to direct humans. We cannot bring unnecessary attention to our family._

The anger which grew in me was blackening. I wanted to destroy everything within reach.

"You don't understand!" I started to yell, unable to maintain a steady voice. "You would have me do nothing. To watch as they plan her life, as if she's some cattle to sell! How could you have me do nothing, Carlisle? NOTHING!"

"Edward," he tried to reason, but I was having none of it. My rationality had escaped me.

"No. How dare you! '_We aren't Gods to direct humans,' _Carlisle? So HYPOCRITICAL, wouldn't you THINK?"

"That is ENOUGH!" The windows rattled in their wooden frames, enough to startle me into silence. Carlisle never raised his voice. It was enough to literally stop me silent.

"You think I don't know? You think I couldn't IMAGINE what you are feeling. When have you become all-knowing, son? Truly?"

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to answer him.

With difficulty, Carlisle unclenched the papers fisted in his hands and sat down behind his desk. A crack ran the seam of his desk, and I started to feel bad.

"How can you forget what I suffered with Esme? When she was human and in a dire situation? I had watched her through her life, being fascinated by this human I couldn't understand." I listened to Carlisle, knowing he spoke the truth and reliving the memories with him mentally.

"I had to watch as she was beat by her bastard of a husband. What could I do? What could I offer? Blood? Death? Eternity?" –

I couldn't help but cringe as I saw all he had.

"So, I eventually allowed her to live her life . . . away from me and my watching eyes. She had to live her life, son." –

"Finding her in that morgue, after trying to commit suicide was enough to almost send me over an edge, too. I had let her go, but somehow she came back into my existence. And whether it was right or wrong, I changed her. As I had you."

I look away from him and out the cracked window pane. Later I would fix it; after all, it was my mistake.

I wondered how many times I would be put back into my place by Carlisle. How many times would I stop thinking myself all-knowing? And how, beyond everything else, was I going to let go. How was I going to allow Rosalie to live her life without my interference?

I looked back to my father and saw the venom lingering in his eyes. My vitriolic contention had done that to him.

But while looking at my sad mentor, and feeling his guilt again at having changed both Esme and I, playing God when we should have passed on, I found my strength. It seemed this man – this humane vampire – would always be my strength, my conscious.

.

And so I continued to watch. As pieces of me were lost and broken by the situation, I watched Rosalie fall for Royce King. Without interference.

She was sublime in her affection for him. Never had I thought Rosalie Hale naïve, but as I watched her falling too quickly for King, I thought differently.

I could see how he looked at her, as if she were some accessory to compliment his outward appearance. He didn't love her as she deserved. He didn't respect her, as she should have been. He didn't cherish. That bastard claimed, conquered and thought he owned Rosalie.

When she was with him, I couldn't be near her. Those were the times I took my aggression out. Most of my kills had been slaughtered, all but decimated. I wasn't a messy hunter by any means, but after seeing _her_ with King, more blood coating my clothes than veins.

It was all wasteful: she with him, and the blood of innocent animals on my body.

But like I knew, something would eventually give. Something had to always give.

.

.

The night Royce King proposed marriage to Rosalie Hale, I fell and let it all go. I couldn't do it anymore.

That night, I had never seen a human more radiant, _happier_. She had glimmered brighter than all the stars in the firmament, brighter than the moon she often spoke to. Miss. Hale was untouchable.

I allowed myself one selfish act. I would allow her to go, to live her life, but I required one selfish deed.

.

.

The days are starting to become longer again. With winter passed and spring now beginning, the days stay lighter for longer.

To a vampire, it shouldn't in actuality matter. One hour bleeds into another, until the day is over and another one begins again.

For me, Edward Cullen, twilight is my favorite time of the day: when it is neither really dark nor light. Time is in limbo, as if unsure of what to do and wanting to go either way. It suits me perfectly.

And it is near this time, an hour before twilight when I see her.

My venom seems to boil hotly as I watch her approach. It amazes me that I once thought her vain beyond reason; that I wrote her off as nothing but rudimentary. Damn, had she proven me differently? And all of it had been done unintentionally. Truly I got to see the real Miss. Rosalie Lillian Hale. The one inside her mind, inside her dreams, the one when no one else was watching.

Even with the clouds covering the sun, and twilight on the horizon, she glows amongst the gloom. Such enchantment.

Something inside my chest squeezes tightly, but I ignore the feeling. It will do me no good.

From watching her, I know this walk along the Genesee River is part of her routine. On Friday afternoons, just as the sun sets, Miss. Hale strolls along the banks near the University. Whether it is sunny or cloudy, dry or wet, she takes the same route.

Why I'm not sure, but I like to think for sentimental reasons. Rosalie seems to have a love affair with this river. She often thinks about an Iroquois story printed (a few years back) about a young, beautiful woman who threw herself off the banks of the river to escape an attack by warriors. Story goes, it wasn't long after that her lover threw himself in after her.

She often sighs when thinking about the young woman and her lover. And now, as she comes to where I'm standing, she releases the timely sigh.

I find myself wholly enchanted with her. And it will soon be over. I am done. Desolately.

"Well, if it isn't Miss. Hale . . . Rosalie Hale," I finally speak, alerting her to my presence.

Startled out of her thoughts about tragic couples, she jumps at the sound of my voice. I can't help the little, wobbly grin splitting my lips.

She looks so perfectly lovely. Her cheeks wonderfully flushed, golden hair falling from her up-do, dress blowing slightly in the breeze, visage stunning and delicate hands clasped together over her pounding chest.

Her eyes follow the sound of my voice to finally land on me. The violet is so striking. I could swear she is looking in to my non-existent soul.

"Mr. Cullen." Pleasant wonder rings in her tone. It makes something inside my chest flutter. "What a wonderful surprise."

As she approaches me, I stand up, acknowledging her presence and being the gentleman she deserves.

"I would have to agree," I tell her, unsure as to what I mean. Perhaps about the fluttering in my chest, or just her finally conversing with me (out of the shadows and knowingly).

Brilliantly, a smile caresses her lips. The purple of her irises grows lighter as she allows the happiness to flow.

_It is for me_. _At last_.

"How have you been?" she asks, genuinely interested.

_Looks happy . . . so handsome when he smiles_ . . .

I allow my lips to part even more, but still careful to keep my impossibly sharp teeth covered. I don't want to scare her off, although I see no fear from her mind. Only real interest in my well-being and life. I still, even after all these months of watching her, cannot understand such genuine happiness.

"Okay." Honest words from my still heart. "These last few weeks could have been better, but _c'est la vie_." A small frown mars her face, but it doesn't detract from her loveliness.

"Terribly sorry to hear that, Mr. Cullen. Hopefully things will get better for you."

When most people offer such words it is nothing but empty platitudes, but she means it so very much.

"Thank you, Miss. Hale. Appreciate the concern." I nod my head, having to hide my eyes, momentarily, from her. I know she would be able to see the raw emotion in them.

With a clenching heart and a lump forming in my throat I look to her finger. "So the rumors are true. You're affianced."

Small giggles leave her parted lips as her cheeks all but glow in happiness. _The very picture of femininity and radiance. So very gorgeous_.

"Yes. I still cannot believe it." She looks off to the river, imagining her future life. I can't help but wince a little. The thought of her and Royce King together is painful to my still heart. For she is so much greater than he.

"And please," she continues, pulling her attention from the future and back to me. "Call me Rosalie. I have worn your suit jacket before, after all."

We both laugh, and though it feels foreign, I know it isn't. So many things I've shared with Rosalie. And though they were never mine – but her life experiences – I had been there to witness them.

"That you have, _Rosalie_." I tilt my head and study her.

Being this close to her is quite the rush, not to mention saying her given name aloud. And damn, she is even more beautiful close-up. I feel myself at another disadvantage. But this time, I don't mind as much; for soon, I shall be leaving her. _Forever letting go_, I remind my rebelling thoughts.

"Would you like to sit with me?" I ask, pointing to the empty stop on the wooden bench next to me.

She looks down the path, as if hoping to continue on.

_Would like to sit, but hardly get the change to stroll the river. Should I invite him to join me? Too forward_?

"Or I could join you, if it isn't an inconvenience or imposition," I offer, unfairly reading her thoughts.

"Of course it wouldn't be an imposition, Mr. Cullen, and the company would be quite welcomed."

_Don't sound too needy, Rosalie. _

"Inconvenience then?" She looks at me, a little confused until catching up. The line between her brows is quite adorable.

The sound of her laughter is brief balm to my defeated chest. Soon, I shall be gone and she out of my life.

"Not even that, Mr. Cullen." As she starts to walk away, still giggling, I pick up my feet and go after her. To be in her presence, even for this short time is welcomed above all.

"So, Rosalie, how have you been? I have yet to ask? You do look quite happy and luminous." I swallow the lump in my throat, pushing past the pain forming so heavily. "And please, call me Edward. It is only fair."

Her cheeks pinken pleasantly at my compliment.

_Haven't been called luminous. How sweet_.

I can't help but feel proud at her thoughts. I want to brag to Royce how very lacking he is.

"I am happy. Being engaged seems to agree with me." And sadly (only because of whom she's engaged to) it does. "The date is set for April, so not too long. The only thing I fear is the planning."

I can read that fear clearly in her troubled mind. She's afraid it won't be grand enough for the Kings; she won't be beautiful enough for him; he'll somehow find her lacking. She wants to make him happy and be beautiful for him as he is to her.

I give her the only thing I can: confidence in herself and in her abilities. "I'm sure you'll do spectacularly well. Do not doubt yourself too much. It will all come together."

I can hear her heart beat even more fiercely as her breath shortens. My eyes look over to her, making sure she's okay to continue walking.

Rosalie's studying her fingers, as if they hold the secrets to the universe. They are quite small and wonderfully delicate.

"You hardly know me, Edward," she finally whispers, peeking at me from the corner of her eyes. A little frown mars her lips. "How could you make such predictions about my abilities?"

_If you only knew, lovely Rosalie_, I can't help mentally argue. She is exquisite.

Playfully I ask, "Who says I hardly know you?"

Something inside feels dangerous, as if wanting to skate on sheet-thin ice.

Amusement lights up her pretty features. The laughter all but rolls from her belly.

"You are terribly incorrigible, Edward. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I give her a sly look before pretending to contemplate her answer. The sound of her saying my given name sends tingles dancing everywhere along my spine.

"Esme," I pause, adding affect to my faux-serious answer. "Carlisle. Once or twice. Every hour of every day." Her laughter continues to ring out.

"Just terrible," she mutters between her mirth.

"I shall take that as a compliment."

It is her turn to smile slyly.

"Who said it wasn't meant as such?"

"Touché."

Slowly, our laughter falls away, being replaced with a comfortable calmness. I bask in her presence and take everything, storing it in the recesses of my infallible memory.

For soon, I know I shall be far from her. This dreamlike interlude will pass, leaving me coldly bereft and lonely – once again.

Like Carlisle, I must let go. It is the right and honorable thing to do.

_So much life to live, so much love to give_. _Cannot take it from her. I've robbed enough of unsuspecting happiness from her_.

But for now, she is mine – alone.

As we reach the point where she usually turns around, we turn and head back into the opposite direction. I take my cues from her and simply follow. Every now and then, she gives me shy, little looks.

_So handsome_ . . . _I don't know why I always felt threatened by his ethereal beauty. He seems much more than that. If things were different, if Edward would have spoken with me_ . . . _Perhaps_. _Another lifetime_.

Unfairly, for the briefest of moments, I hate Rosalie Hale. It is intense and hot. I cannot understand why she would unknowingly torture me so, even though she can't know of my reading her thoughts.

_Things aren't different, they never shall be_. _And the false hope _. . . _Damn me_.

_I already am_.

"So, I hear your family is moving soon. Off to bigger and better things?" I am grateful for the change of subject and the small reprieve. My time with her is already limited.

"Yes. Carlisle received an offer at a prominent hospital. He feels he can do more good there." Half-truths I tell her. Carlisle did receive another offer; it isn't at a prominent hospital but in the hills of the Appalachian Mountains. It is the promise fulfilled to me by Carlisle: to settle somewhere less high-profile.

"That sounds lovely. Dr. Cullen has been quite a treasure to Rochester. I know many will see him sorry to go."

Her truths aren't fabricated. More money and a promotion had been offered to Carlisle. Anything to get him to stay. But like all places we move, our time here is over. With us unchanging, it is only a little time until someone notices something.

"He and Esme will be sad to leave, but I think we are all ready for a change." I was more than ready for a change. It felt like something big was waiting for me on the horizon. I both welcomed and feared it.

"You won't be sad to leave?" my walking companion inquires, noticing my slip. She is too sharp. Something I already know about her.

"In some ways, I supposed." I look at her, taking in every contour to her face. Her skin glows under my inspection so I turn away.

_Too intense, Edward._

_._

_I wonder what he could mean_. _It matters not anyway. I shall soon be Mrs. King. I love Royce dearly_.

And once again, the knife inside my chest is twisted piercingly. It is time to end this, to say goodbye and allow the pain to consume me wholly. I _am_ ready to leave.

As if my prayers are answered, we reach the bench from whence we started, to which I strategically set up our accidental meeting. It is my last selfish act.

As we near, and my heart begins to tear, I contemplate the best way to say goodbye; to go about this. Never would I imagine myself in this situation. Saying goodbye to an inconsequential human is silly to think, yet here I stand, looking at the loveliest of humans.

My hands become fists as I try to keep myself to together. The pain is starting to cripple me. How could I be in this situation? Something which started from a need to watch a human girl?

"Well, Edward, it seems as if we've reached the end." She smiles softly, looking at me from under her lashes.

_Such fitting words from her rosy lips_.

"It was a most enchanting stroll. Thank you," she speaks softly.

My heart can't but help finish her statement, _Every moment spent with you, Rosalie Hale_. The venom begins to sting the back of my eyes.

My fingers crave into my skin, and I hope she cannot hear the flesh of my palms tearing. As quickly as they appear, my venom seals them up. The small amount of pain is a welcomed relief. It will keep me together for a while longer.

"You are most welcomed, _Rosalie_," I murmur. "It is not every day I walk with such a lovely companion." My hand reaches out, to perhaps touch her face, smooth back her wind-blown hair, but I pull it back. Talk about inappropriate.

She smiles under my compliment, having to look away at the last second.

_So terribly nice. Wished we could have been acquainted with each other more_.

Again, her thoughts hit a little too close to home, for I want to say, "_I know you, Rosalie. Quite well, in fact_."

But I keep my words inside, not giving them to her, to whom they rightly belong to. She is human and I'm vampire. She has a right to life and I have one to endlessness.

"Well, I should probably go. Dusk is on the horizon." She fiddles with her fingers, and it is quite different to watch. She is always confident, so sure of herself. This side to her is terribly enchanting.

"Should I walk you back?" I ask, trying to be the gentleman she deserves, but silently begging her to say no. I cannot take much more.

"That is awfully kind of you, Edward, but I'll manage. My home isn't too far." I already know that, but again let it go unsaid.

We stare at each other, not being able to take our eyes from each other. The moment seems to transcend all that I've known. I am at such a disadvantage.

Without thought, and finally having to relent to this unbearable pressure pounding in my veins, I reach out and smooth back her hair. It is the one rebellion I can live with.

Softly, she gasps, but doesn't flinch away from my touch, if anything (and perhaps to my absurd imagination) she leans in to my touch.

"I wish you all the happiness possible, Rosalie Hale." My heart splinters in shreds, and the venom is scorching under my skin, behind my eyes.

I tilt my head to the side, the weight of it seemingly too much for my neck. I allow a wobbly smile to touch my lips, briefly. My words come naturally, from some unselfish place within me, "Be sure to always live your life in love. You deserve it above all."

Exquisitely, her violet eyes turn to watery pools as she stares at me in confusion, yet a deep happiness. Regardless of anything, I know she is in love with him. And I only hope that love will blossom into all the dreams of her heart.

"Thank you, Edward. Though it seems inadequate." I know she means my words from the heart. But she is wrong, her appreciation isn't insufficient. I can feel it in the shape of her thoughts, how much she means it. Her heart seems to beat with the words.

I drop my hand and watch as it falls listlessly. It is done. My short interlude with Rosalie Hale is finished, and twilight is upon me.

"You better go. I wouldn't want you walking around too late at night." She blinks several times, clearing the lovely salted-water from her eyes.

"Right, of course."

As she goes to walk off, leaving me in this lonely solitude again, she stops and turns. A beatific smile parting her elegant lips. "I'm sure I shall be happy, Edward. I love Mr. King, and he I. May you ever find the same happiness." Her hand falls over her pounding heart. "Truly, Edward."

I nod, letting her know message received. "Just be careful, Rosalie. You deserve the best," I caution, not being able to let her go without the small words of warning.

Royce King is beneath her in every conceivable way.

"As do you, _Edward_. As do you." She gifts me with her most dazzling smile before turning around and leaving me in the waning twilight.

When she is finally out of sight, and I can no longer hear the shape of her thoughts, my knees give way. The pain is intense and crippling.

_How did it ever get to this_, I constantly ask the acute throbbing in my veins, the fire of my venom, and the crack which runs straight through the center of my dead heart. _How did it ever come to this_?

With Rosalie Hale now gone, and engaged to someone so beneath her, I can't help but think how much I now hate this time. Twilight. Such a lonely and hateful time of day.

Thank you, Rosalie. I now despise the twilight.

I shall never look on it with gladness again. _Forever I shall think of you, naïve in your love, and me? . . . Solitary in_ _my fallen twilight_.

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Author's Notes: Okay, it is finished. What did you think? Did you expect the story to end in such a way? I didn't.

This story came to me one night, when I was thinking about Edward's character and why he hates twilight so. I figured it was something more than what he told Bella. And thus this idea burst into my head and through my fingers onto my computer. It was fun to write and quite different.

Anyhow, thanks for coming along on this short ride. Writing Edward's POV is still daunting to me, but a little easier. Perhaps?

If you have the time could you please review. I'd LOVE your thoughts and comments! This is the giving season, you know (*wink*).

I'll be updating Impetus this week, too. Just an FYI. Thanks again, darling! Until next time, much love!

_Finished: Monday, 2 December 2013 _


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